Come, Marcus, come. Kinsmen, this is the way.
Sir boy, let me see your archery.
Look ye draw home enough, and ’tis there straight.
_Terras Astraea reliquit._
Be you remembered, Marcus, she’s gone, she’s fled.
Sirs, take you to your tools. You, cousins, shall
Go sound the ocean and cast your nets;
Happily you may catch her in the sea;
Yet there’s as little justice as at land.
No; Publius and Sempronius, you must do it;
’Tis you must dig with mattock and with spade,
And pierce the inmost centre of the earth.
Then, when you come to Pluto’s region,
I pray you, deliver him this petition;
Tell him it is for justice and for aid,
And that it comes from old Andronicus,
Shaken with sorrows in ungrateful Rome.
Ah, Rome! Well, well, I made thee miserable
What time I threw the people’s suffrages
On him that thus doth tyrannize o’er me.
Go, get you gone; and pray be careful all,
And leave you not a man-of-war unsearched.
This wicked emperor may have shipped her hence;
And, kinsmen, then we may go pipe for justice.
Earth has failed me. Rome has failed me. The law has failed me. There is nowhere left but heaven. So I appeal to the gods directly. They alone have the power to right what Rome will not.
I've tried everything—earth, Rome, the law. Nothing works. Only heaven can help me now.
earth failed me. rome failed me. the law failed me. only heaven's left.
O Publius, is not this a heavy case,
To see thy noble uncle thus distract?
Publius, is this not a heavy thing to witness—your noble uncle so distracted?
Publius, don't you see how broken he is? Your uncle's lost his mind.
look at him. he's completely gone. what do we do?
Therefore, my lords, it highly us concerns
By day and night to attend him carefully,
And feed his humour kindly as we may,
Till time beget some careful remedy.
Therefore, my lords, it is of highest importance that we attend to him carefully, day and night, and gently humor his state of mind as best we can, until time itself brings us some remedy.
So we've got to watch him constantly, day and night, keep him calm, humor him as much as we can—hope that time helps him heal.
we need to watch him. keep him calm. humor him. maybe time helps.
Kinsmen, his sorrows are past remedy,
But . . . .
Join with the Goths, and with revengeful war
Take wreak on Rome for this ingratitude,
And vengeance on the traitor Saturnine.
Kinsmen, his sorrows cannot be cured, but—we must join with the Goths and make war for revenge. We will take vengeance on Rome for this ingratitude, and on the traitor Saturnine.
His grief can't be fixed. But we can fight back—join the Goths, wage war, get revenge on Rome and on Saturnine for what he's done.
his pain is permanent. but we can fight. we can make them pay. revenge is all that's left.
Publius, how now? How now, my masters?
What, have you met with her?
Publius, what news? Have you found her?
What is it, Publius? Any luck out there?
did you find her?
No, my good lord; but Pluto sends you word,
If you will have Revenge from hell, you shall.
Marry, for Justice, she is so employed,
He thinks, with Jove in heaven, or somewhere else,
So that perforce you must needs stay a time.
No, my good lord, but Pluto sends word: if you want Revenge from hell, you shall have it. Justice, however, he reports is occupied with Jove in heaven, or somewhere else, so you must needs wait for her.
No luck yet, sir. But Pluto says you can have Revenge from hell anytime you want. Justice? She's busy with Jupiter in heaven—stuck there. So you'll have to wait for her.
no sign of justice. but pluto says revenge is ready. revenge is waiting for you. justice? she's busy elsewhere.
He doth me wrong to feed me with delays.
I’ll dive into the burning lake below,
And pull her out of Acheron by the heels.
Marcus, we are but shrubs, no cedars we,
No big-boned men framed of the Cyclops’ size;
But metal, Marcus, steel to the very back,
Yet wrung with wrongs more than our backs can bear;
And sith there’s no justice in earth nor hell,
We will solicit heaven and move the gods
To send down Justice for to wreak our wrongs.
Come, to this gear. You are a good archer, Marcus.
We all appeal to heaven now, Titus.
We're with you.
we're all here. we all appeal.
This scene presents the sharpest version of the play's central interpretive question: is Titus mad, or is he performing madness as a strategy?
The evidence for genuine madness: he is shooting arrows at the sky, talking to the gods as if they can hear him, confusing a country Clown with a divine messenger, and sending a knife to the emperor with no apparent awareness of the consequences.
The evidence for strategic performance: the knife in the petition is deliberate — Titus has written the letter, had Marcus fold the knife inside it, and given the Clown careful instructions. The mad archery provides cover for a calculated provocation. And Saturninus, receiving the letter, says he can see through 'his feigned ecstasies' — even the emperor thinks the madness is performed.
Shakespeare refuses to resolve this. What's most interesting is the possibility that both are true: Titus has broken, and within his brokenness he continues to function. His grief is not an act, but neither has it incapacitated him. He is, in the most literal sense, operating at the edge of reason — which is the most terrifying place from which to plan a revenge.
Kinsmen, shoot all your shafts into the court.
We will afflict the emperor in his pride.
Kinsmen, shoot all your arrows into the imperial court. We will torment the emperor in his pride.
Everyone—fire your arrows at the palace. Let's get under his skin.
shoot them all. fill the sky. make him feel it.
Now, masters, draw. [_They shoot_.] O, well said, Lucius!
Good boy, in Virgo’s lap! Give it Pallas.
Well done! Good boy, Lucius! Direct it to Virgo's lap! Give it to Pallas!
Perfect shot! Right at the constellation—put it with the goddess of wisdom!
yes! virgo's lap! pallas!
My lord, I aim a mile beyond the moon.
Your letter is with Jupiter by this.
My lord, I aim beyond the moon itself. Your letter has reached Jupiter by now.
I'm aiming so high the arrows'll pass the moon. Your letter's already at Jupiter's desk.
so high. beyond the moon. jupiter has your letter now.
Ha! ha! Publius, Publius, what hast thou done?
See, see, thou hast shot off one of Taurus’ horns.
Ha! Publius! Look what you've done—you've shot off one of Taurus' horns!
Ha! Publius! You knocked a horn off the Bull constellation!
look what you did! the bull's horn is gone!
This was the sport, my lord; when Publius shot,
The Bull, being galled, gave Aries such a knock
That down fell both the Ram’s horns in the court;
And who should find them but the empress’ villain?
She laughed, and told the Moor he should not choose
But give them to his master for a present.
That was the sport, sir. When Publius shot, the Bull, being wounded, gave Aries such a knock that both the Ram's horns fell into the court. And who should find them but the empress' servant? She laughed and told the Moor to give them to his master—as a gift.
That's the game, sir. When Publius shot, the wounded Bull rammed Aries so hard both his horns came down into the palace. The empress' servant picked them up, laughed, and told Aaron to give them to Saturnine as a present.
that's what happened. the bull hit aries. ramm both horns down. the empress laughed. told aaron to give them as a gift.
The Clown is the play's only character with no connection to any of its conflicts. He wanders in from outside the tragedy, carrying his pigeons, minding his uncle's business. He leaves carrying a death sentence he doesn't know about.
His function in the play is to show the collateral cost of power's corruption. Saturninus, furious at Titus's arrows and letter, executes the first available person — not Titus, who is politically dangerous, but the harmless messenger. It is the tyrant's move: punish the weak to avoid punishing the strong.
The Clown never learns that the letter contained a knife. He never learns why he was hanged. He exits thinking he'll receive a reward. His cheerful trust in Titus — a man who, whatever else he is, is a general who has sent soldiers to their deaths — is both comic and unbearable.
For the audience, the Clown is a moral reset: after three acts of elite-class violence, a genuinely innocent person dies, and his death is almost a footnote. Shakespeare is making a point about whose deaths count and whose are forgotten.
Why, there it goes. God give his lordship joy!
Let him have them then! God give the lord joy of them!
Let him keep them! Let him enjoy his gift!
let him have them. good luck to him.
Ho, the gibbet-maker? He says that he hath taken them down again, for
the man must not be hanged till the next week.
The gibbet-maker? He says he's taken them back down—the man mustn't be hanged till next week.
The gibbet-maker? He said he took the gallows back down—can't hang the guy till next week.
the gibbet-maker. he took them down. can't hang him till next week.
But what says Jupiter, I ask thee?
But what says Jupiter? What is his answer?
Never mind that. What did Jupiter say?
what about jupiter? what's his message?
Alas, sir, I know not Jubiter; I never drank with him in all my life.
Alas, sir, I don't know Jupiter. I never drank with him in all my life.
Sorry, sir. I don't know Jupiter. Never met him, never had a drink with him.
i don't know him. never met him. never drank with him.
Why, villain, art not thou the carrier?
Villain, are you not a carrier?
Aren't you a carrier?
aren't you a carrier?
Ay, of my pigeons, sir; nothing else.
Yes, of my pigeons, sir. Nothing else.
Yes—of pigeons. That's all I carry.
pigeons. that's what i carry.
Why, didst thou not come from heaven?
Didn't you come from heaven?
Didn't you come from heaven?
you didn't come from heaven?
From heaven? Alas, sir, I never came there. God forbid I should be so
bold to press to heaven in my young days. Why, I am going with my
pigeons to the tribunal plebs, to take up a matter of brawl betwixt my
uncle and one of the emperal’s men.
From heaven? Alas, sir, I never went there. God forbid I should be bold enough to press to heaven in my young days. I'm going with my pigeons to the tribunals to settle a matter of dispute between my uncle and one of the emperor's men.
Heaven? No, sir, I've never been there. Lord, I wouldn't dare go to heaven yet. I'm on my way to the courts with my pigeons to settle a fight between my uncle and one of the emperor's guards.
never been to heaven. would never dare. i'm going to court. to settle a fight between my uncle and the emperor's man.
Shooting arrows to the gods is not simply madness — it has classical precedent. In Homer's Iliad, Ajax hurls defiance at Zeus. In Seneca's Thyestes and Hercules Furens, characters challenge the gods directly when human institutions fail. Titus's archery is a direct citation of the Senecan tradition of furious, god-defying heroes.
The key source is likely Seneca's Hercules Oetaeus, in which Hercules, betrayed and dying, calls on Jupiter for justice. The comparison isn't flattering to Titus — Hercules is also a figure of disproportionate violence — but it places him in a tradition of heroic suffering that the Elizabethan audience would recognise.
More immediately relevant: in Roman practice, written petitions were genuinely addressed to the gods (and displayed in temples) when legal channels failed. Titus's letter-arrows are a literalised version of votive petitions. He is not being metaphorical. He is using the only remaining channel he can find.
Why, sir, that is as fit as can be to serve for your oration; and let
him deliver the pigeons to the emperor from you.
That will serve perfectly for your oration. Let him deliver the pigeons to the emperor from you.
Perfect—that's exactly what you need. Have him deliver your pigeons to the emperor.
that's perfect. let him deliver your pigeons. to the emperor.
Tell me, can you deliver an oration to the emperor with a grace?
Tell me, can you deliver an oration to the emperor with grace?
Can you deliver a speech to the emperor with grace?
can you speak to the emperor? with grace?
Nay, truly, sir, I could never say grace in all my life.
No, truly sir. I could never say grace at any meal in my life.
No, sir. I've never been able to say grace before meals.
never said grace at meals.
Sirrah, come hither. Make no more ado,
But give your pigeons to the emperor.
By me thou shalt have justice at his hands.
Hold, hold; meanwhile here’s money for thy charges.
Give me pen and ink.
Sirrah, can you with a grace deliver up a supplication?
Come here. Don't say another word. Give your pigeons to the emperor. By this hand, you'll receive justice from him. Here—take money for your expenses. Get me pen and ink. Now, can you deliver a petition to him with proper ceremony?
Come here. Enough talking. Just give your pigeons to the emperor. I promise you'll get justice from him. Here—take this money. Get me pen and ink. Can you present a petition to him properly?
come here. stop talking. give him the pigeons. he'll give you justice. take this money. get me pen and ink.
Ay, sir.
Yes, sir.
Yes, sir.
yes.
Then here is a supplication for you. And when you come to him, at the
first approach you must kneel; then kiss his foot; then deliver up your
pigeons; and then look for your reward. I’ll be at hand, sir; see you
do it bravely.
Here is your petition. When you reach him, first kneel down, then kiss his foot, then give him the pigeons, then look for your reward. I'll be nearby—make sure you do it well.
Here's the letter. When you get to him, kneel first, kiss his foot, then hand over the pigeons, then wait for your reward. I'll be watching—do it right.
here's the letter. kneel first. kiss his foot. give him the pigeons. wait for your reward. i'll be watching.
I warrant you, sir; let me alone.
I warrant you, sir. Leave it to me.
Don't worry, sir. I've got this.
got it. no problem.
Sirrah, hast thou a knife? Come let me see it.
Here, Marcus, fold it in the oration;
For thou hast made it like a humble suppliant.
And when thou hast given it to the emperor,
Knock at my door, and tell me what he says.
You have a knife? Let me see it. Here, Marcus—fold it into the letter. You've made it look like a humble petition. When you've given it to the emperor, come back and tell me what he says.
You have a knife? Let me see. Here Marcus—put it inside the letter. It'll look like an innocent petition. After you give it to him, come back and tell me what happens.
do you have a knife? fold it in the letter. it'll look like a petition. come back and tell me what happens.
God be with you, sir; I will.
God be with you, sir. I will.
God bless you, sir. I will.
will do. god be with you.
Come, Marcus, let us go. Publius, follow me.
Come, Marcus, let's go. Publius, follow me.
Let's move. Come on, Marcus. Publius—follow us.
let's go. come on.
The Reckoning
The tonal whiplash is deliberate. After the horror of Acts 2 and 3, Titus shooting arrows at the sky while shouting at gods is either madness or performance — or both, and Shakespeare refuses to resolve that ambiguity. The Clown is a gift from the real world, utterly unaware of the tragedy around him, and the comedy of their conversation makes what follows — Saturninus ordering the Clown hanged — land with unexpected force.
If this happened today…
A grieving person who has exhausted every formal channel and finally starts writing letters to God, congress, and the UN simultaneously. The family humours him. Then a stranger wanders by with the wrong package and gets conscripted into delivering the petition. The joke is that the stranger, the only person in the scene with no agenda, is the one who ends up dead.